The Sting of the Scorpion
by Sirabella
Summary: COMPLETE. After 'The Gift,' Janeway and Chakotay need to talk.


Disclaimer: Ok, here's the deal, folks: I don't own Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay or Star Trek: Voyager, nor do I own the ridiculous things Paramount did with them over the last few seasons. So if you feel like suing, take a number :)  
  
A/N: Ten points if you can find the quote from a Katharine Hepburn movie in here.  
  
Kathryn Janeway leaned back in the chair behind the desk in her quarters, trying not to move, or think... It had been hard, after Kes had thrown them out of Borg space, to deny just what had happened, that she had lost. She disliked losing; as a child she had given up on herself as a complete failure and walked home in the rain, many, many miles, simply because she had lost a tennis match, to a Vulcan, no less. Impassive, cool-headed, logical... how could she compete with that? Sometimes she envied Tuvok. Now was one of those times. Kes was gone, she, Captain Kathryn Janeway, had failed to keep her here, hold onto her for just a moment longer, perhaps long enough to keep her forever. But it didn't work. Tuvok had given her a moment's control, enough to let her leave... How could he just let her go? How could any of them just let go? She didn't know, but she would have given a month's supply of coffee to find out.  
  
And how was this for preposterous timing, anyway? She had Seven of Nine to deal with now. A Borg... no, not a Borg, a human woman, a child whose innocence had been ripped away from her in one terrible moment. That innocence that Kes still had, in spite of all she had seen...  
  
Kathryn shook her head to clear it. The stars were bright in their insistent clamor for the universe. No ambient light disturbed the quiet beauty of the galaxy. A foreign galaxy, so many long years from the Milky Way, from Andromeda, from all of the different wonders of the skies she had learned to recognize at her father's knee so many years ago. So little here was familiar to her, so little reminded her of home. But Kes had been one thing that did.  
  
Kathryn had a sister, but Phoebe was so unlike Kes it was impossible to see them in the same room, let alone in the same light. Kes was exactly what Kathryn had always imagined a little sister to be: sweet, loving, innocent, eternally devoted and always there with a gentle word and an even gentler voice to give a fresh spin to every situation, every wound, every problem. Phoebe was nothing like that. She was harsh, unyielding, unwilling to be tamed or babied, with a temper as fierce as her quick mind and consequently quick tongue. She was impulsive, fiery, never the voice of reason. Kathryn loved her, but it wasn't the same. She needed a connection on a deeper level than any that Phoebe could reach.  
  
She had that with Kes. She still had it and would remember it, no matter where Kes went or what she did. No matter where Kes' mind was at work, it would insistently seek hers with its gentle pressure of assurance and friendship, always a safety net at the back of her mind. That was it, really; she needed something steady to catch her when her own decisive temper landed her in a horrible fix. Kes had always been there... but then, someone else had, too. Ever since that first day in the Delta Quadrant, an equal, a solid presence in the back of her mind that never relented, never let her think for one moment that she was alone.  
  
He had tried to warn her about the Borg. About the danger, about the nature of the beast, and she hadn't listened. She didn't regret it, any of it, but she regretted telling him his vows of support were meaningless, simply because he disagreed with her decision. She regretted hurting him like that. And she had certainly hurt him. She could see it in his eyes as she had uttered that one word that had never before been filled with such finality: "Dismissed." As if he were a hologram to delete, or simply another crewman whose opinion mattered little to her, the captain, the only one who mattered. No. She wouldn't let him think that, not if it killed her. This was the moment, no turning back. If she didn't let him in he would never forgive her. Never trust her again... "Computer, locate Commander Chakotay." "Commander Chakotay is in his quarters." Oh, of course he was. It was 0200 hours. But she still felt this same sense of urgency; she simply couldn't let it go on any longer. "Is he asleep?" "Negative." Hmm. Maybe she could drop in quickly, set the record straight, and leave. Just a friendly chat before she let her mind drag her away into sleep, only to wake to it all again in the morning. She stood up quickly and threw her dressing gown around her shoulders, not bothering about her hair swinging down over her shoulders, or her slippers, lying hidden under some obscure particle of furniture. He was just down the hall, after all. She smiled to herself. Just down the hall. It was far enough; borderline; close enough.  
  
She rang his door chime hesitantly; what if he were asleep after all? But he wasn't, she saw, as the doors hissed open to reveal his slightly surprised features. At least, not anymore. "Did I wake you?" she asked quickly, resolving to leave as quickly as possible if that were the case. "No, not at all," he replied smoothly, stepping back from the door to allow her to enter. "In fact, I couldn't sleep. Tea?" "Thanks. I'd ask for coffee, but I've got a sneaking suspicion my body might have built up an immune defense against it over the last few weeks." He grinned mischievously at this, walking quickly to the replicator and ordering the tea before setting up operations on the small coffee table near the sofa. He beckoned to her to join him, and she sat down cross-legged on the floor next to him, watching as he poured the tea into two cups and handed one to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him watching her as she sipped her tea, careful not to burn her throat as she almost gulped it down. "What's on your mind?" he asked suddenly, and she had the feeling he knew she'd be here tonight.  
  
"Too many things to count," she said softly, basking in the comfort of his presence and his evident concern. They were both silent for a few moments, simply thinking, listening for any indication that the other was about to speak. She was grateful for that infinite patience of his; she envied him that even more than she envied Tuvok his stoic calm. "It's Kes, for one thing," she said finally. She stared fixedly into her cup, watching the dark liquid swirl around in its furor of steam, the color rising in her cheeks as she elaborated: "I don't know how to let her go."  
  
"You already have, Kathryn," he said firmly, causing her to glance swiftly up in surprise. "You've done all you can to set her free. Now your heart simply has to do the rest for you. The only thing that can make it easier from now on is time."  
  
"But how do I live with it, Chakotay? Right now my mind is telling me: go after her, she belongs here with us, she isn't grown yet, she needs all of us to look after her. She isn't a child, I know that," she said quickly as he looked as if he wanted to say just that. "But she was my responsibility for so long... now that she isn't... I feel like I've lost."  
  
The silence returned, heavy, weighted down with emotions and thoughts. Chakotay broke it. "You've lost her, yes. But this battle wasn't yours to fight. You couldn't control..."  
  
He had to stop here; her interrupting voice was deep with regret and frustration. "Exactly! No control, no say in any of it. I can't handle that, Chakotay, you know that. You've seen what happens when I'm cornered. I... don't like being a bystander in the decisions of my closest friends."  
  
Chakotay tried to stop the words coming, but hers struck far too near the wound of her infliction hidden deep within him, and the words said themselves before he could do a single thing. "Doesn't feel so wonderful, does it?"  
  
Her eyes flew open wide in shock, and she stared at him for several seconds in silence before pain flooded her gaze and she turned her head away to gaze out at the stars. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, still not looking at him. "I accused you of distrust... I never... I was the one who couldn't trust you, not enough to turn the ship around," she continued on, losing confidence with every syllable. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I shouldn't have said that," he answered in turn, trading her one concession for another. "I don't blame you, not really."  
  
"Why not?" she said suddenly, turning her face back to his so quickly it made his heart leap.  
  
"Because you followed your conscience," he said truthfully. "Because you never doubted yourself. You knew what you needed to do. I wish I had half your courage," he finished almost inaudibly.  
  
She reached out swiftly and entwined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently in her own smaller one. They were both silent; there was nothing to say. How could she tell him he was the bravest man she had ever known? How could she say she trusted him with her life, that she would sooner cut off her right arm than lose his support, his presence by her side? She couldn't, not without sounding like she was grasping at straws to boost his confidence. Truth could never be believed when it was clothed in such bluntness, but her natural eloquence had failed her, and she was left with this man and a cold cup of tea.  
  
"What else is bothering you?" he asked gently, squeezing her hand in return.  
  
"Seven of Nine."  
  
"Ah." He waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What did she say?"  
  
Kathryn sighed, placing the teacup on the table and dropping her other hand to her lap. "That we were no better than the Borg. Keeping her locked up here, when she only wanted her freedom. But it wasn't just that she wanted," Kathryn said desperately. "She wanted to go back to the Borg. She wanted the freedom to rejoin our worst enemy, to become one of those murderers again. She's still human, Chakotay, under all that metal and all those delusions of grandeur, under all those malevolent stings, I know it. I know that little girl is in there somewhere, and I know I have to rescue her, even if she doesn't want rescuing right now. She feels alone, abandoned; I have to give her a chance to become what she could have been without the Borg and their assimilation technology."  
  
"I hope you're right," he said quietly. To his utter surprise, she turned to him suddenly, fixing him in place with the hint of desperation in her eyes.  
  
"You do believe that, don't you?" she said intently. "You believe she's still human, that she has a chance?"  
  
"Yes," he said finally, glad to be able to give her some reassurance; the frantic look in her eyes, that rare fear that was so deeply hidden that only he would have been able to find it... it was almost more than he could bear. "I think it's her only chance. She certainly isn't Borg anymore, and as far as I can see, never will be again. Unless, of course, we're all assimilated," he added cheerfully. "They'll never come for her, at least, not just for her. We've got to teach her what we know, and what we know is humanity. Friendship...like you said," he finished hesitantly, not knowing what she would make of his allusion to that temporary truce in Master da Vinci's studio.  
  
She couldn't look at him, so she grabbed her teacup up again. It was horribly clammy and cold. "We are friends, aren't we?" she whispered.  
  
His hand quickly slipped out of hers, and she felt her teacup being tugged gently out of her grasp. He brought the dishes to the replicator and sat back down next to her, closer this time. "I didn't know you doubted that." His voice was strained, as if the words cost him great physical effort.  
  
"In the middle of the night... when I'm alone and I can't feel Kes in the back of my mind anymore... it's possible to believe anything," she confessed, rubbing her forehead with the palm of one hand as if she had a headache.  
  
"Just let go, Kathryn. It's like closing your eyes and letting yourself fall... you just have to hold onto one thing: that someone behind you is going to catch you before you hit the floor. It's the hardest thing there is... but it's worth it."  
  
She turned to look at him, and with a shock he realized that she was on the verge of tears. "But I always hit the floor," she whispered painfully. "If you knew..."  
  
"I know what happened," he said uncomfortably. "I've read your Starfleet records. But no, you're right, I don't know. Not really. You'd have to tell me."  
  
"I wanted to die," she said simply. "It felt as if everything I was had drowned with them. It's so easy to say I shouldn't have taken the time to think, I should have saved one of them, just so I would have one to grieve with. But how do you choose? It was paralyzing, the knowledge that I would be leaving either my father or my lover to die, slowly, in the cold... there was no way to choose. But I couldn't tell myself that after it happened. I couldn't take in the pain of losing them both... simultaneously. It was too much. I stayed in bed for weeks, months, doing nothing but sleeping and swimming in the pain. Phoebe- that's my sister- finally threw a bucket of ice-water on my head one day and dragged me out into the fields. It's funny- I was closer to Kes than I ever was to her, but she's the one I miss the most out here. More than my mother, more now even than Mark, although it didn't feel that way at first." There was a pause, then: "Whom do you miss, back home?"  
  
Chakotay didn't answer. There really was no one. There were only things, places, memories... not that he didn't want to go home. He did, desperately. But he was happy here, too, especially just now. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just miss home. 'The bones of my people.' My father's grave. It's been a long time since I sought out his spirit."  
  
"But you can do that here, can't you?"  
  
"Yes, and I have, but he will only come when he's urgently needed. The dead don't like to dwell too much within the minds of the living. It reminds them of what they've lost." They were silent again, thinking of their dead, and of the blessings of sharing old pain. Chakotay had one more question to ask, but he didn't know how to phrase it. Either answer seemed so wrong, so simple. Too simple to be true. But he had to know what she'd say. "All things considered, after everything that's happened... I know you want to go home. So do I. But... are you happy here? Do you wish none of this had happened? Because if it hadn't, you'd be married to Mark, and I'd be running from the Federation and the Cardassians and the spirits know how many bounty hunters... and we'd never have known each other, or any of the rest of them. Has any of it... anything... compensated for what you've lost, getting stuck out here?"  
  
She thought for a moment, studying the carpet beneath her. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I know that being stranded this far from home, not knowing if I will ever get back... I know it could have been much, much worse. I've been so lucky, Chakotay." She looked up at him, then; she couldn't say any more without showing him she was sincere. "Thank God for you."  
  
He reached out and took her face in his hands, at a loss for words. She thanked God just then for him, but every day he thanked all the deities he'd ever heard of for her. He knew for a fact that if it hadn't been for her, he'd never have survived any of this, especially not all that Seska had done to him. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to her cheek. "Stay," he whispered hoarsely in her ear. He felt her hands clench briefly in the material of his shirt.  
  
"I might as well," she said lightly. "I have to be on the bridge in under 3 hours."  
  
"No," he said fiercely, pulling her closer, "stay because you want to." She was surprised, very much so, at this display of emotion from him. He was normally such a private person, only sharing just so much of his personal space and history at a time. She was annoyed for a moment that he seemed to be requiring of her the same unguarded need for companionship that he was showing her, until she realized she did need it, and only from him. He was the only one who cared enough to give his pain for hers.  
  
"Of course I'll stay," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder, as if she were laying down a great burden.  
  
"I'll always catch you," he said warmly, running a calming hand through her hair. "I'm not going anywhere. Remember, Kathryn, remember New Earth. I meant everything I said. We might not have the luxury here of... living that kind of life, but I can still make it easier for you."  
  
"I'll remember," she whispered, and he felt his shirt grow warm and wet where her head was resting.  
  
"Why don't you try and sleep," he whispered into her hair.  
  
"I don't want to move," she protested with a yawn.  
  
He grinned. "If we don't, both of us are going to be very stiff in the morning. Here," he said wickedly, and not waiting for a response, swung her up into his arms and made for the bedroom. Ignoring her scandalized expression, he put her down gently on the mattress, pulled back the covers and slipped inside with her. She was too tired to protest and curled into his arms.  
  
"I feel safe here," she murmured sleepily.  
  
He smiled. "Good."  
  
"It's *too* cozy," she said, laughing. "I have to be careful I don't make a habit of this. I can't spend every night in your bed, you know. What will the neighbors think?"  
  
Her expression sobered quickly when his eyes met hers, full of a fiery passion she had seen only a few times before, but never with his face so close, his mouth only inches from hers... "I wish you would," he said seriously, never taking his eyes from her face. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was horrible, denying him this, especially when she wasn't sure she felt like denying it to him. She reached up and wrapped her arms tightly around his back, trying to pull him as close as was humanly possible.  
  
"I can't," she whispered miserably. But then a thought occurred to her: she couldn't give him any guarantees, anything that would last from one day to the next, but she could give him tonight. She could give them both some wonderful memories. "But I'm here now," she said quietly, calmly, with only a touch of suggestion in her voice. He needed to decide if what she was offering was a precious gift, or whether it was worse than nothing, a tantalizing glimpse of what he couldn't have. He stiffened abruptly in her arms, then slowly raised his face to hers. He could see that she was perfectly serious, and his mind was swimming with confusion.  
  
"Please don't take pity on me," he said suddenly, almost angrily. "I'll survive, you know." He saw the hurt look on her face, and she moved to slide out of his arms and out of the bed. He hurriedly tightened his arms around her waist. "Whatever you can give is enough," he said tenderly.  
  
"I would never do anything like that out of pity, and you know it," she snapped. "I value myself more highly than that." He looked appropriately contrite, though, and she couldn't say anything more in anger. "I said it because... because I think we both need it," she said slowly. She waited in suspense for some indication that he'd come to a decision.  
  
"Thank you," he said finally in a low voice, a voice that was filled with humble adoration, with tears, with escalating passion. He slowly leaned his head toward hers and met her lips with his own. 


End file.
